I Could Definitely Get Use to It
by E. Veda W
Summary: This is just something I thought of because I had a good friend get drunk awhile ago and I wondered what I would do if that happened. So, it's about Ron and Hermione. Ron gets drunk and Hermione comes to his rescue.


**I Could Definitely Get Use to It.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Harry Potter. It is all due to JKR's brilliance.**

I had only received the phone call from Ron about five minutes ago and I was already speeding down the Party-Holding Muggle's road. I had told Ron multiple times to never go to a party alone, but he was convinced that these people were his friends; they would look out for him and make sure he didn't drink too much. Well, he was wrong (as usual, sadly enough). So, here I was on this lovely Saturday night, going to this house to pick Ron up from his "friend's" house.

I reached the driveway and quickly went to the front door, knocked three times, and opened the door, letting myself in. All of these people were wasted out of their minds. They wouldn't notice a complete foreigner entering their home.

Disgusted to see that these people were not only drinking, but also doing other unmentionable things with pipes and nostrils, I recognized one of the Hop-Heads and approached him.

"Where's Ron?" I asked the fellow. He smiled at me, through vacantly glazed eyes and pointed in the direction of a the staircase.

"Up there, pretty," he said, grinning. "You know, you're really hott." He gurgled through the spit that was dripping from his mouth. I slapped his wondering hand away from my hip and marched up the stairs, holding my head high as not to appear apprehensive. I had to get Ron out of here.

"Ron?" I called, looking through each door, "Ronald?" I finally found him in a corner, his head between his hands. I knelt beside him, my heart melting to see that he was in this shape.

"Hermione?" he said weakly, gazing up at me through bloodshot and scared eyes. "Hermione. . . ."

"Let's go home, sweety," I said gently. Grabbing him by his arm, I helped him get to his feet. He put his arm around my shoulders and we both walked out of the house, not speaking to anyone as we left.

The car ride home was very silent. Ron was in the front seat next to me, just holding his temples and clawing at the door handle in an attempt to make the spinning stop. Every now and then he would groan from discomfort and fear. He always became scared when he got drunk. He never knew what would happen to him.

"We're home, " I said. I walked to the other side of the car and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. He lived alone in a tiny little flat, a big contrast from the Burrow. Luckily, I came over so much that he made me a key for the house. So, I unlocked the door and plopped him down onto his couch.

"I'm going to make the bed for you, alright," I said, kneeling down and putting my hand to his forehead. He nodded and I went on my way. I gathered his pillows that were scattered on the floor (he was such a messy boy, never cleaned up after himself) and put nice, cozy blankets on his bed.

Suddenly, I heard a sound coming from the bathroom. It startled me at first, but then I realized it was Ron getting sick. I rushed to the bathroom and found him kneeling by the toilet. As soon as I put my foot in the room, he began wrenching again. So, I did what I always do in these cases. I put my hand on the back of his neck and the other hand on his back, rubbing up and down.

"There, there, Ron. . .shh. . .shhh."

"Hermione. . ." he managed to choke out when he wasn't throwing up, "go home!"

"You know I won't do that."

"I'm fine."

"I'm going to get a cold rag, alright? I'll be back in a few minutes." He nodded his head, knowing there was no way I would leave him.

Here I was again, in this position that I always find myself in. If Ron every needs something, I am always there, right by his side. If he needs a ride, boom, I'm there. Sick with a cold, boom, I bring him chicken noodle soup. Had a bad break-up with his girlfriend, hello, I run to him like an idiot with open arms. That's the killer. I'd do absolutely anything for this boy, well, man, and yet he doesn't realize I'm _here _for him. It must be a guy thing.

I found him on the bed with one leg hanging over, his hand to his forehead. I sat on the edge of his bed. He put his hand by his side and propped himself up on his pillows a bit more.

"Here you go, Sweety," I said, placing the cold rag on his forehead. He closed his eyes and groaned. "Sshhhh, it's alright." I began stroking his hair back. It was a soothing technique I had mastered through the years of taking care of him when he was upset or sick. It always calmed him down.

"Herms. . . .I'm cold. . ." said Ron, eyes still closed.

"Alright. . .here you go." I covered him with the blankets. "Do you think you're done throwing up, now?"

He made to grab for my hand, but missed. I took his and stroked his palm now. "You're so wasted," I said, in somewhat of a chuckle.

"Hermione, stay with me, please?"

"Of course I will," I said softly. "I always do."

"I don't want to be alone. . . ."  
"You don't have to be." I sat next to him on the bed and stroked his hair some more. "I'm right here." He grabbed my free hand with a somewhat tight grip until he fell asleep. Once he was out, I, as I usually do, put a large pillow on his one side and crawled in the bed (the pillow was there as a divider). Then, as usual, the next morning I would wake up and make him some tea or coffee and then he would come down the stairs with a humungous hangover. After I was sure he was alright, I'd go home.

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I woke up the next morning, earlier than usual after a night of partying. The sun was shining bright through my window, so I had to look away to save my eyes. I looked to the left of me and saw a body in the bed, grabbing onto a pillow. I shook my head to make sure I wasn't seeing things.

"Hermione?" I whispered. She was sleeping silently in the bed, next to me. She must've done this every time she brings me home drunk. Here, I thought she slept on the couch downstairs.

I reached out and pushed a piece of her hair back behind her ears. Hermione was always there for me, no matter what. Even when it was a bad night of drinking because I was sad over a girlfriend dumping me, she would come to my side and hold me as I got sick, or stop me from having more. I don't know why I drank so much when I got downtrodden. But I never wanted to be like that around Hermione, and here I was, almost every weekend, having her do this. It was insane.

I removed the pillow between us. Her hand slowly slid from it and fell to the bed. Putting the body pillow on my other side, I inched closer to Hermione and put my arm on top of her pillow. I laid my head down and stared at her face, her beautiful face. Her hand reached for something to grab onto, seeing as the pillow was no longer there. I let my other hand find hers and she clasped it and came closer. She was close enough that I was able to kiss her forehead gently.

To this day, I'm not sure if she realized that she curled up into my arms that morning, allowing me to hold her. I do know one thing, however. I could definitely get used to it.


End file.
